Taming the Billionaire

by Dani Wade

  She raised a brow. “Murdoch didn’t mention that you had a satellite phone.”

  “I prefer to forget I have it. My editor, Charles, insisted I get it because he got tired of my being out of reach and ignoring his emails. The landline goes down all the time out here. I only use it to call him and my agent and for emergencies.”

  He could tell by her face that this little explanation puzzled her, but Tate wasn’t going out of his way to explain his eccentricities. That was the way he operated. She could take it or leave it.

  He glanced over the list. “These two,” he said, pointing to a couple of companies he’d worked with in the past. She had good taste. “I’ll get your luggage while you put in the calls.”

  “What? So you were serious—”

  “If you haven’t slapped me yet, I guess we’re pretty close to compatible. And it saves me the time of searching for a housekeeper to hold me over for just two months.”

  Willow started a little happy dance on her side of the island. Tate did his best to ignore the sway of soft body parts.

  This decision was probably a mistake, but it was expedient. And after accosting her in his sleep he felt obligated to be rather generous.

  “So let me know when they arrive, and I’ll show them around.”

  “I can handle it,” she quickly countered.

  Tate adopted his sternest expression. “But I know the house, so I will. Got it?”

  “Yeeesss...” The drawn-out word made it clear she didn’t understand, but she would soon enough.

  “I’ll give you a chance to clean up, then we’ll go over a few things,” he said, eager for a break from his unrelenting response to her presence.

  “We can now,” she said, eagerness practically vibrating off her in waves. “I’m good.”

  Maybe getting it over with was a good choice. Like ripping a bandage off a particularly sensitive patch of skin.

  “Let’s start with the rules.”

  She blinked, as if trying to comprehend what he was saying.

  “What did Murdoch tell you?”

  Her smile opened her face up, revealing a pleasure that sunk straight into Tate’s darkened heart. He couldn’t catch his breath for a moment. Luckily she didn’t notice as she bent over to pull a notebook from her backpack. Guess she wasn’t a designer purse kind of girl.

  “He gave me a whole notebook on house procedures. Let’s see, gate and alarm codes, chore schedule, your favorite foods...”

  But no real rules? Somehow at this point he wasn’t surprised. Yesterday he would have been. Not today.

  But Tate was a big believer in start how you mean to go on...

  “Rule number one. I am not to be disturbed.”

  That seemed pretty self-explanatory, but Willow still asked, “You mean when you’re writing?”

  Tate refused to show the jolt of surprise that shot through him. “So Murdoch told you what I do for a living?”

  “Actually, the fact that you’re an author is pretty well-known and speculated on in Savannah. Though no one has been able to crack the answer to what you actually write.”

  “And Murdoch didn’t share that.”

  The solemn shake of her head didn’t dampen the curiosity in her expression. But he wasn’t about to satisfy her with an answer. Instead he ignored the whole line of questioning.

  “Actually, when I’m in my office at all, I’m not to be disturbed. I’ll come down at the set mealtimes I’m sure Murdoch gave you.”

  Willow quickly moved on. “What about mail? Do you want your mail when it comes, or for me to wait for a meal and give it to you then?”

  As she opened her mouth to say something else, Tate raised his hand for her to stop. “Do. Not. Disturb. Understand?”

  He could see another question brewing in those green eyes, but he forged ahead. “Rule number two. No talking about me or anything that happens here or that you see here outside of these premises.”

  “What about with my family?”

  That wasn’t an issue Tate had ever run into with Murdoch. He and his family had been estranged for the first ten years he had worked here, but even after the reconciliation Murdoch hadn’t shared important details of his job with them. He’d simply gotten into the habit of keeping Tate’s issues private.

  But Willow’s family might be a different story.

  “I think that rule is self-explanatory,” he said, injecting a stern note into his tone.

  “Actually, it’s not,” Willow said. “I mean, I’m guessing you want me to keep quiet about who you are, since Murdoch did. What about the house? Can I talk about it? Am I supposed to keep quiet about everything I see? Where’s the line? Can I tell my family how to contact me?”

  “Of course.”

  She’d asked more than one question, and the litany confused him. Murdoch was a quiet, loner type. Willow was not quiet...at all.

  “Of course you can tell your family the landline number, as long as they don’t abuse it or share it,” he amended. “But my home, my business, are to be kept private at all times.”

  “Do I need to sign a nondisclosure agreement?”

  “I don’t know. Do you?”

  The rapid shake of her head sent wisps of red hair flying. Man, that was gorgeous. This woman was all living color. He looked back out the windows.

  “Certain rooms in the house are off-limits to everyone but me.”

  “Murdoch mentioned that, but how will I know which ones they are?”

  “Good God, woman, do you ever stop asking questions?”

  Tate looked back at her just in time to see her blink hard. For a moment, he feared he might be facing tears, but no. Just a sad “Sorry. I guess I just want to do it right the first time.”

  Man, I’m such a jerk.

  Tate’s brain scrambled to rectify the situation. He heard himself say, “I’ll take you around and show you.” Until now, he’d had no intention of doing any such thing.

  And the way her eyes lit up made him think what should be a simple thirty-minute walk would turn into hours of her asking questions he didn’t want to answer. “Later,” he added.

  He might need to fortify himself with a drink...or two...beforehand.

  Four

  Willow wasn’t stupid.

  She knew her curiosity tended to get on people’s nerves. A lifelong learner—that’s what one of her professors in college had called her. The insatiable curiosity and hunger for knowledge made her annoying to some people and boring to most.

  Her sisters loved pretty dresses, nail polish and all things feminine. And while Willow had a good enough eye to help them pick things out, she had no desire for those things herself. Instead she was excited by books, old houses and antiques. If there was a mystery to go along with them, all the better.

  She seemed to get on Tate’s nerves more than most. Which was too bad. Because he was a hunk.

  All those glorious muscles, that messy hair and brooding intense stare. He matched the mysterious house to perfection... But he wasn’t well matched with her. She could tell he’d enjoyed her much more in his sleep—when she wasn’t talking.

  After a morning spent inspecting the kitchen and fixing his lunch, she waited impatiently for him to finish eating. He took his time in the breakfast nook, while she struggled not to eagerly bounce from foot to foot in the kitchen. She’d snuck a peek at some of the adjacent rooms, but she was eager to see the rest of the house...even if it was just a tour for him to show her what she wasn’t allowed to touch.

  Finally he brought his plate back into the kitchen.

  “Is it time now?” she asked, then pressed her lips together, inwardly chastising herself for her impatience.

  He raised one dark brow, but this time seemed rather amused by her enthusiasm instead of annoyed.

  He gestured toward the
hallway leading to the rotunda. “Shall we?”

  As they walked down the hall, she once more glanced into the open rooms. For the most part, they were bare. Some were decorated with boxes and sheet-covered lumps that could have been furniture. Intricately carved doors and elaborate lighting fixtures coated in dust reinforced their lack of use.

  As they reached the rotunda, Tate paused. He braced himself in the middle of the round room, staring up the magnificent staircase as if he were challenging it. A multitiered chandelier that Willow hadn’t been able to make out in the dark hung from the very high ceiling. A row of small windows around the top of the rotunda let in light that bounced off the chandelier’s crystals.

  “Sabatini House was built by a pirate,” he started, his voice echoing slightly off the walls. “It took over ten years to complete, though he brought his bride here after only three. It’s built to celebrate the spot where the water forges its connection with the land.”

  Willow started to open her mouth, started to question whether the stories of the underground caves were true, but then she remembered the cut of his reprimand this morning. She quickly closed it again.

  The last thing she needed was to aggravate Tate at the moment. She’d hold all of her questions as long as she possibly could. After all, she wanted him to be able to at least tolerate her. Maybe there would be a time to ask her questions later, after he got used to her being around.

  Or maybe she could settle for something benign? Like “How long have you lived here?”

  “The house has had a long and varied history,” Tate said. “My family were direct descendants, so I’ve lived here all of my life.”

  She thought of how much her own little house meant to her and her family. It wasn’t anything as magnificent as this, but it was a direct link to their people. “Wow,” she said. “That must be an incredible feeling.”

  The indistinct noise Tate made drew her gaze away from the impressive rotunda to his face. He stared at nothing with a deep frown. “Both a blessing and a curse,” he said.

  She ached for him to explain, but he simply turned away. Where was his family now? she wondered. Why did they leave him all alone? These were definitely questions she should not ask.

  And he certainly wasn’t volunteering that information.

  Instead he kept to the general. “The house was built to withstand the rough weather of the outer islands. Tropical storms, hurricanes, flooding—they all pose a threat. But not to Sabatini House. After a lifetime living on ships at sea, that pirate knew exactly what he was up against. Even the erosion of the ocean was guarded against when building the foundation.”

  Curiosity burned in Willow’s throat. He had to be referring to the flood of the ocean beneath the mansion. Were the rumors true? Murdoch had refused to deny or confirm the existence of caves beneath Sabatini House, stating it wasn’t his place to say.

  Tate’s strong legs carried him up the stairs. “Sabatini House doesn’t have an elevator. All the upper floors are reached through this staircase, or the one on the opposite end from the kitchen. If a room is locked, it is off-limits to you. That includes the third floor.”

  Panic swallowed up Willow’s reserve. “But what if—”

  Tate paused, twisting around to stare down at her from a few steps above. “Off. Limits.”

  “Right,” she mumbled as they continued up the stairs. She struggled not to show her unease. Her personal reasons for taking this job included finding the answer to a family mystery...an answer that probably hid in one of the third-floor rooms, if Murdoch’s information was correct.

  Resolving to find a way, Willow focused once more on the current tour.

  As they traversed several hallways, Tate gave short explanations about architecture, molding and carvings in the plaster. But nothing personal. Nothing meaningful. He could have been a boring docent in a beautiful museum for all the enthusiasm he infused in his words.

  Many of the rooms were dusty. Some were completely empty. He hadn’t been kidding when he said there wasn’t another mattress in the place. One of the downstairs living areas had been decorated with “more modern” furniture from the fifties or sixties. Any bedrooms had empty bed frames—beautiful, but achingly empty. While Tate obviously understood the history of the house—the why and how it was built—that didn’t translate into pride of ownership.

  Willow’s hands itched to work on some of the antiques that they passed. A large grandfather clock. Leather-bound books. Incredible pieces of furniture covered in dust cloths...or simply dust. Restoring antiques was a passionate hobby of hers, but she doubted Tate would appreciate her efforts.

  They came to the wing on the second floor that Willow remembered from this morning. It was closed off from the main hall with heavy wooden doors carved with intricate swirled designs.

  Tate paused. “This wing holds my suite of rooms,” he said. “If these doors are open, you may come down the hall. You’ll of course need to clean and gather laundry. But my office is absolutely off-limits.”

  He pulled the heavy floor-to-ceiling doors open with a loud creak. Guess there was no sneaking in here... She smothered a giggle. Tate didn’t seem the type to appreciate her subversive brand of humor.

  This hallway was darker than the others. Most of the adjoining doors were closed, cutting off the light from outside. Tate pointed to the far end. His face was grim as he said, “My bedroom suite. You can go in there to change the sheets or clean the bathroom. But cleaning only.”

  He pointed to a long table on one side of the hallway. “That door there is my office. If any mail comes that needs to be attended to, you can set it on the table and I’ll get it when I’m ready.”

  He turned to study her, his expression almost expectant. She knew he was wondering why she didn’t ask any questions. Her earlier behavior had proved her curiosity. But the questions she wanted to ask weren’t appropriate. Like, why are you keeping these rooms off-limits? What is it you have to hide? Why can’t I bring the mail to you, instead of just leaving it on the table outside?

  None of his secrecy or demands for privacy made any sense.

  Finally he continued, “The third story and turrets are off-limits.”

  It was a struggle not to roll her eyes like a smart-alecky teenager, despite the unease that resurfaced. She was beginning to think the word off-limits was his absolute favorite.

  “There’s nothing up there that you need to be involved in, and some of the rooms could be dangerous from disrepair. As evidenced by the roof caving in last night.”

  “I thought you said the roof had been inspected?”

  “It is, yearly. But as you can see, in a house this old, anything is possible. Even when you’re careful.”

  She trailed behind him as they went back down the stairs, only this time he curved around behind the staircase and down another, much smaller set of stairs. Her heart started to thud as the sound of the ocean grew louder in her ears.

  “Down here you’ll find the laundry room, and some storage areas where we keep extra supplies.”

  He walked down the hallway. The floor seemed to be carved straight out of rock. The laundry room was industrial-sized, but obviously converted from something else that had been there for many, many years. The storage room was lined with shelves. The cool atmosphere was perfect for storing a variety of items and keeping them fresh. She could just look around these rooms and see the history of them, feel how integral they had been to a huge busy household that had many mouths to feed. The history buff in her shivered with excitement.

  The other side of the hall had one large, long room with a door open at each end. The space was full of exercise equipment. Guess she now knew where Tate’s bulk came from.

  “I work out every night.” Gesturing toward a phone at one end of the room, he added, “You can reach me on the intercom here if necessary.”

  At least h
e wasn’t off-limits when he was working out. Although seeing him half-dressed and sweaty might be more than she could resist. After all, that might make her forget his current attitude...

  They made their way back toward the bottom of the staircase. Willow kept expecting him to mention the sound of the ocean and the underground cave that was rumored to be part of the house, but he never did. She’d been a good girl, keeping herself focused on the essentials and not plying him with questions. But as he took that first step up the stairs, she couldn’t hold it in any longer.

  “Is it true?”

  He turned to stare down at her, his brooding look almost daring her to ask the question. But she couldn’t help herself.

  “Are there underground caves here beneath Sabatini House?”

  His stare turned into a glare, and for long moments she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he came back down the steps to stand uncomfortably close. He pointed down the opposite hallway.

  “Yes, it is true,” he said, his voice low and rumbly. She could almost feel the vibration in her core. “The caves are actually natural, with parts that are hand-carved beneath the house’s foundation. But they are completely—”

  “Off-limits?” she supplied.

  It was all she could do not to giggle when he glared down at her. “The swimming cove is not safe,” he insisted. “Don’t ever go in there.”

  “Why? How is it not safe?”

  If nothing else, she just wanted a peek.

  The question changed his tone from stern to downright cold. “I don’t need a reason. Just stay away.”

  She shivered at his intensity. But that didn’t kill her curiosity. As he turned to leave, she couldn’t help but stare at the hall leading to the most mysterious part of the house.

  What was it he was hiding?

  * * *

  If Willow had any doubts about Tate’s determination that she stay away from the third floor, they disappeared when the repairmen arrived that afternoon.

  She didn’t even have to call him down—he simply appeared in the doorway to the kitchen as she watched the repair truck drive up the winding road and around to the side of the house. Tate had used this company before, so they knew where to enter.